Body Image Studies
by DrTimWhatley
Summary: Britta gets a job and deals with weight issues. Told from her POV.  Part 1 of 2. My first story so please give feedback and review!
1. Chapter 1

I had been going out with Troy for nine months before he suddenly gave me the news that I actually wasn't the "independent woman" image I portrayed to him and to others. We were seated at a non-smoking table at The Red Door when he told me, among other crude things, that I was close-minded, a buzz kill, and my vegetarianism got in the way of both romantic dining and time with Abed.

Granted we were both three months away from being seniors in community college, and we still had things to learn, but I was blown to bits by the breakup. This kid had lied with every "Britta, I love you" and each false-hearted smile. "You're not perfect," he had said. I threw my salad and tomato soup onto his lap and ran out of the restaurant faster than he could attempt an apology.

At first, I thrived on the illusion that I could pick up the bits and shack up with a new guy in a snap. This "screw 'em and leave 'em" mode of thinking had been my philosophy with every boyfriend prior to Troy. He brought out something in me no boy ever did before. I became determined to win him back. As long as I kept up my gaunt, thin body, he would be mine soon enough.

I immediately threw the meat-eating suggestion out the window simply because the very idea belittled my every moral fiber. Music was a huge deciding factor, I think, in Troy's decision. I was a flavor-of-the-month kind of girl, leaning more towards gender-bending glam indie than his favorite styles. I guess I was sort of quick to judge a lot of the hip-hop he let me listen to. I never paid attention to any of the mix tapes he gave me, either.

I retraced our relationship with the objects or gifts he gave me. The huge heart-shaped box of chocolates from Valentine's Day that I refused to eat. The Fantastic Plastic Machine 7" record. A chocolate orange from Easter. A mix CD. A giant Hershey's kiss for my birthday, completely untouched (He must have really loved giving me food I never ate.) Three mix tapes, all entitled "For Britta, the Clotting Heart."

I wasn't about to be the gorging girl, so I set the candy aside and put the needle on the red groove of the Fantastic Plastic Machine single. The heavy bass and bullshit lyrics confused me as to whether I should laugh or cry, remembering the two of us dancing around my bedroom to the music. Oh, the memories.

When the needle exited the groove, I just laid in my bed, clutching the sheets. I felt compelled to listen to the tapes he gave me. It wasn't entirely painful, no matter how much Joni Mitchell lost her cool when Q-Tip started singing her lyrics, "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." I had dismissed the Smiths as depressing college music that loafers adored like faded plaid and absinthe. It was obvious from these tapes that he wanted to pretend he liked what he thought was my music.

I popped in the 90-minute cassette and fell in love with, who I later learned to be, Morrissey's voice. I wasn't one for actually knowing names. I felt such direct empathy when he uttered the solemn lyrics, "Why do I smile at people I'd much rather kick in the eye?" I didn't want to wallow in my self-pity. I didn't want to be a sad lump of clay. Screw Troy.

In maybe a half hour tops, I cleaned my hair up, popped the tape into my car, and drove around looking for a job. It was the summer. I did not want to sit around my tired old house, mulling about. I needed money, though, some fiscal drive with which I could propel myself.

Circuit City. Nope. I would not be able to deal with people's horrible music choices. Express. I would not be caught dead in that store. Whoa. Dunkin' Donuts. I hadn't touched a donut since I was 10, but it would be boring enough for me not to worry about it, and not my style of food to pig out on. I thought about it for a second, then parked my car in the lot, picked up an application, handed it in, and went home listening to Morrissey's oh-so sad voice. I couldn't help but be a little bitch and think of Troy.

I got a call at 8:00. I figured it was Annie or Shirley, but, alas, it was Dunkin' Donuts, a prospect I had forgotten about since toking up about an hour earlier. They wanted me to work the next day! At first, I was a trifle upset, but then I figured the sooner I started work, the sooner I got paid. They gave me the choice of picking up my uniform that night or changing in the bathroom on the next. I was bored, so I decided to go and fetch it that night.

While there, it must have been the pot that came over me and convinced to me to buy two strawberry jelly donuts. I wasn't even hungry. The 50% discount made it seem even more worthwhile, and, after I slapped on the baggy fuchsia shirt and loose size 3 khaki pants, I tore in like a wild woman. Strangely enough, after about seven fritter-less years, it felt good. Really good. I felt compelled to eat them. Needless to say, I fell asleep five minutes after waddling into my house, feeling like a whale.

I thought of Troy and cried silently so as not to wake Captain Whiskers. I thought about the guys I had been with: Vaughn, Jeff, Troy, and even the Balkan sociopath. Not one of them really cared about me. I just wanted someone to hold me close and tell me that they would love me no matter what. I had only ever been used as an object. I didn't want to be their play-thing anymore. I couldn't keep filling the void in my life with these assholes.

I woke up the next morning famished, though I was determined to do jack shit about it. I donned my uniform and proceeded to Fat Palace. The day proceeded uneventfully, with the exception of one hog of a woman who felt the obese need to change a healthy order to a really fat one. I smirked quite smugly as I rang her up, knowing I had full self-control over my hunger. Oh, God, if only I could have a fucking donut.

By the time noon rolled around, I was nearly dead. I caved, and it was sweet. Losing all inhibitions tasted better than the donuts themselves, and sucking off the frosting tubes felt even better than that. I was in heaven, and all because I gave up. I thought I'd last longer than this. If only Troy could see me now, the bastard.

The next couple of weeks were a blur. I cared less about my social status than keeping myself happy. I hadn't hung out with the group because of my work schedule. I hadn't visited a record store in so long, and my Smiths tape was forever engrained into my memory as much as it was wearing out in my cassette player. Having all this lazy fun, I failed somewhere down the line to realize the toll it'd been taking on my body.

It was this morning, when the top button on my hipster jeans almost popped under the strain of my love handles, when I saw them, those haunting creatures called the munchies. The little buggers just sat squat on my feet, staring up at me, chanting, "Munch all day, just munch munch munch / A nine-course breakfast, a twenty-pound lunch!" When the one that looked like Troy poked my belly, that's when it hit me: I had become a cow.

I just thought the dryer had made my panties tighter, little did I know it was my gigantic ass! I never wanted to be bootylicious! No indie girls are bootylicious! I just figured I was finally getting a nice chest, considering the two bra sizes I had to go through in three weeks. But damn it. No guy is going to look at me now, other than Pierce. My thighs look like two sausage casings! This has to stop!

"Where ya going?" the creatures asked in unison as they hopped on the scale with me, one by one, each looking like Jeff or Troy or Micronipples, etc. Oh shit. There is no way I could have gone from 108 to 130 in two months! All the monsters laughed as I ran out the door wearing only my Dunkin' Donuts shirt and insanely taut black satin panties. I swore to myself I would never have cellulite. I made a mental note of the celery and mustard calling to me from the back of the fridge.

I stepped into the donut shop determined to quit. The bright lights, coffee scent, and pastry upon pastry damned me before I could say to my manager, "I'm sorry, but could I have a new pair of khakis? Mine shrunk in the wash." After rummaging through a bunch of ones I thought would fit, all the while bending over and succumbing to the stares of male co-workers and old men (Couldn't they see I'm so damned big?) at my satin-sealed ass, I found my new pants: size 8. It felt good as it rolled off my mumbling tongue.

I stepped behind the counter and went about my business. After a few hours, I heard a crashing noise from outside and saw groceries flying all over the place. An older man went about picking up the fallen items and eventually stood facing the store. Holy crap. It's Pierce. I immediately ducked down behind the counter and crossed my fingers, praying to no denominational god in particular that he wouldn't come in. Three seconds passed and the bell on the door chimed. He's in. I'm finished.

He walked up the counter and waited about half a minute before yelling, "Can I get some service here?" I had nowhere to go, so I sighed and stood up. He started rattling off his order for a good amount of time before realizing I was who I was. "Brittles, is that you? You don't quite look yourself."

So far he was doing a fine job of being tactful. "Yes, Pierce, it's me. How's your summer?"

"Good, but what's wrong with you? Brittles, it looks like you've been hitting the Skittles."

There he is, I thought. As he laughed at his joke, I tugged down on my shirt to make sure it covered anything embarrassing.

"Thanks for noticing," I said to him as he calmed down from his fit of giggling.

"No, no, I don't think you look bad. Just different."

Pierce was playing nice today. "Thanks, Pierce."

"Quitting smoking is tough on you. I knew a guy who almost killed himself because he stopped taking LSD."

"Sounds rough, but I haven't smoked for a while now. This is unrelated," I said, awkwardly gesturing toward my body.

"Oh, it must be Troy's work. I had a friend in the 70s named Leroy and he preferred-"

"Pierce, I don't want to talk about this. Are you going to order anything?"

"Don't be upset. My second wife went through a similar phase. And it was just that, a phase. You don't deserve to be judged by others based on something so unrelated to your character. If anybody gives you a hard time, they don't deserve you as a friend."

I guess he was having one of his best days ever. I felt like hugging him, but didn't want to give him any memories of his second wife. "Thank you Pierce, that meant a lot to me."

He nodded sagely. "You know, I don't think I'll have anything. You made me lose my appetite."

The other shoe had indeed dropped. "Goodbye, Pierce."

He turned back and waved from the door. "See you at the barbeque."

Suddenly I was reminded: Now I was a size 8, and only two weeks from the group's summer BBQ at Pierce's mansion. I decided not to worry about it. I simply thought, and with due cause, that no man would find me sexually attractive. Finally I could enjoy a completely platonic relationship with Jeff. Yeah, right...

I had a thought one night about Jeff Winger and his school for scoundrels. The day of our freshman Valentine's dance I had spent hours upon hours doing my hair up and feeling nervous about how I looked in that dress. I wanted to make him weak in the knees. It was then that I realized he would never have the initiative to care for me, that never in a million years would it be normal for us. So I compromised; I made a mental note and felt a terrible pain in my stomach, as if I had just shut the door on an alternate reality where something "normal" might be achievable. The terrible memory had led me to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

The pudgy little gremlins who have been force-feeding me do not help all that much either. Neither does, then, the fact that I spend so many lazy hours in back of a donut shop counter. To think that only two and a half months ago, I was a rail-thin chick convinced she could thwart any onslaught of sweets. What a laugh riot! I giggled to myself, shaking tumultuously at the thought of the group seeing me.

Monday morning, I woke up to the sounds of an infomercial in the background and those of the Munchies in the foreground. I felt large and looked down at my phone to see a text from Annie. "What can you bring to the BBQ? " I had half a mind to text back "6,000 fucking donuts" and never look at my phone again. But my thoughts were interrupted by the lovely Munchies.

"Bjork just lies on the couch and eats / Look just like her by piling on the sweets!" They always sound so sure of themselves, it's hard not to believe them, with their familiar little faces. At first, I was strong-willed, but lately, I've been physically powerless at their coaxing. I felt incredibly comfortable as they were engorging my cheeks with French toast. Mmm...

It took me about an hour to at least somewhat resist their efforts to make me massive. After four slices of French toast, I carried my bloated body to the shower. The Munchies weren't too terribly far behind.

I didn't have work for a good hour and a half, so I lolled about underneath the showerhead for a goodly amount of time. Sometime after I had been caressing my rotund ass and evaluating the advice Pierce had given me, I realized something: I was free and tortured at the same time.

As soon as I got just a little bit plump, my anxieties slowly began to melt away like butter. But, at the same time, I felt unnatural and massive. I had drawn a mental image of myself that was admittedly much bigger than I was in reality. I saw myself in the mirror as Vicki when I was only an inflated version of myself.

I needed to get back into shape and cope with my problems in a different way. The BBQ was tomorrow and I didn't have anything to wear. As I headed out for the mall to buy for my new waistline, I scoffed at the donut on the counter.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi! This is where Chapter 2 will be, but I wanted your feedback. I don't want to write the conclusion unless you guys want to read it. Please let me know what you think in the reviews. Thanks so much!


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